


Dangerous Activities

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 22:43:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: "Dangerous activities require a clear mind.  Of course, the prospect of imminent death greatly clarifies the mind, but it is always good to obtain clarity WITHOUT losing one's life."





	Dangerous Activities

{"Clarity of mind."} 

Someone, he didn't remember who, had told him that "dangerous activities require a clear mind. Of course, the prospect of imminent death greatly clarifies the mind, but it is always good to obtain clarity WITHOUT losing one's life." 

{"Possibly Kevin Richards; it sounds like him, anyway,"} Garrison mused.

Going by that, considering the past three weeks had been jammed deep with dangerous activities that put him an eyelash away from such an end time and time again, Craig Garrison knew his own mind should have been crystal clear, especially on top of everything else he was trying in his search for inner clarity. But there he was, obviously courting death one more time. And this time Death just might nod and whirl him away on that long final dance, making all that 'clarity of mind' rather a moot point.

***  
"He's doing it again," Casino informed them in sheer disgust. He'd gone to see how the prospects looked for a visit to the pub, had peeked in and caught their lieutenant at it. Again. Not figuring an interruption would be appreciated, (it hadn't been the LAST time, that's for damned sure!), he'd eased the door shut and returned to the Common Room.

"Third time this week that I know of, and it's only Thursday. Sheesh, we REALLY gotta get the man laid, ya know??! This can't be healthy!" and the snorts of amusement echoed from around the room.

Still, Chief was quick to defend Garrison. 

"Nothing wrong with it, Pappy. We all do what we have to to deal with the pressure. That's his way, that's all."

Actor raised his aristocratic brows, smiled a superior smile. "And it might be something for YOU to consider, Casino. It has to be healthier than indulging in some of the females I've seen you with."

That of course set their safecracker into a hot defense of HIS way of relieving a little pressure, AND the women he got involved in the process, versus "those silk and satin dames YOU keep coming up with. Don't take diamonds around a broad's neck to make her good in the sack, Beautiful."

Goniff just sat back and grinned, watching the show, surprisingly silent for once. It took awhile for Casino to figure out there was an opinion yet unheard.

"And what about you? You usually have something to say. Nothing too important, true, but that don't usually stop you," Casino challenged their pickpocket. "You're okay with the Warden's new pastime stead of what I'm suggesting? You're getting plenty of action down at the Cottage with Meghada - hell, I'd think you'd be all for the Warden getting in a little live action of his own. We could find him a nice broad for the night, maybe even a classy one like what Beautiful here goes for. It's gotta be better for him than sitting around in a room by himself doing THAT!"

Chief shot Goniff a quick look from under lowered lashes, his lips quirking just a little, waiting for the Englishman to respond. {"This should be interesting. One a these days, Pappy's gonna wake up and figure out the Warden's getting plenty of live action. Well, as much as the war and the jobs and everything lets him."}

Goniff wrinkled his nose and shrugged, indifference purely rolling off his shoulders.

"Don't know why it bothers you so much, Casino. Bet lots a people do it. Even 'Gaida does. Don't call it w'at the Warden does, acourse. SHE calls it 'ag oscailt' something or other - says it means opening the path. But it's pretty much the same as what the Warden's started doing. 'Ag oscailt', 'meditation' - six of one, 'alf a dozen of the other, seems to me. Leave the man alone; 'e says it 'elps, in all sorts a ways. Centers 'im, clarifies 'is mind.

"Even thinking of giving it a try myself," he offered, giving a proud tilt to his blond head. 

As a distraction, it worked beautifully, just as he'd been sure it would. Actor and Casino burst out in a laugh, and even Chief had an amused smile on his face, though his was more because he knew quite well what Goniff was doing - changing the subject away from Garrison and that 'live action' Casino thought he was in such dire need of.

"YOU??! Hell, you couldn't sit still that long, not without fidgeting! Sure as hell couldn't give up chattering for that long! And ya gotta actually HAVE a mind before you start clarifying it, ya know?"

A voice from the doorway interrupted the cacophony. 

"What do you say to a pint at the pub? My treat," Garrison asked, a relaxed smile on his face.

{"Well, it does seem to work for him, even if I don't get it,"} Casino had to admit to himself as he hurried away to get the jeep. 

***  
The job, as laid out by HQ was - interesting. That was the best term Garrison could think of to call it, out of a list of descriptive words that came to mind. That some of those words were of Cockney origin, and one or two definitely Celtic, well, perhaps that was only to be expected anymore.

Garrison thought he was making some decent headway, both with his striving for increasing his clarity of mind AND his patience. Still, that briefing at HQ had severely tested both.

Twice he'd had to stop Major Ralston, point out the discrepancies in what he was being handed. Once he'd just shook his head and firmly stated, "no. That can't be right. So which is it? Are we going after this Moliere and his list of our agents in France, or after Kaufman and his plans for the German advance? Major, we can't be in two places, working two different operations at the same time! My guys are good, but not THAT good!"

Well, at least Ralston had the grace to look embarrassed at the slip-ups, had apologized. 

"Sorry, Garrison. I'm working three different operations myself and have pretty much been going round the clock the past few days. That was careless of me, losing track that way, and I DO apologize."

Garrison could empathize, of course - he'd been in that position before, himself. Still, this was his life, the lives of his men he was putting on the line, and their intel was bad enough most times without having parts of the actual job intermixed with one or two OTHER jobs.

After the Lieutenant left the office, Ralston sat at his desk, tapping his pen against his desk pad thoughtfully. Then, he picked up the phone and made a call.

"Not as well as we had hoped, at least in some ways. He picked up on two of the red herrings and a major piece of another, almost immediately. I know you had hoped the more obvious one with the locations would have distracted him enough for him to not spot the rest at all. Still, that leaves enough interwoven that we should have a good chance of getting the results we are looking for. And it does point to at least one explanation for their success. It was almost as if he was graphing the information in his mind as we spoke, moving the pieces as if on a chessboard."

No, he wasn't sure he approved of this particular operation, but he had his orders. Glancing down at that file one more time, he sighed and flipped the intercom. 

"Jones, send in whoever is next on my list, will you? And find me some coffee, as strong as possible. I'm going to need it."

His Aide suppressed a grin, glancing at the glowering man sitting in the side chair. {"Yes, considering it's Micah Davis, I'd think you will, Major. Probably something a bit stronger before THIS interview is over."}. 

He looked longingly at the intercom button, fighting the urge to keep it in the open position. Well, Davis had the most unique vocabularly that Corporal Jones had ever encountered, and a tentative dictionary of those words was gradually being compiled and circulated for some of those in the right circles. Still, it would be worth his uniform if he was caught listening in, he knew.

Garrison sat in his car for awhile before starting the engine. There had been something off in that meeting, something off with Ralston, more than just fatigue, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. And it was going to nag at him til he DID figure it out. And that picture he had in his mind, the pieces just didn't fit together the way they should, the way they usually did.

He'd intended to head straight back to the Mansion, but it wouldn't delay him too much to stop by Hotel Marchant. He'd get a room, go over all he'd been told. Maybe meditate on it all awhile, maybe bring some clarity to the subject, point him in the right direction. After all, in the long run, it was HIS responsibility to get out there, get the job done, and get his team back safely. That was well worth a couple of hours delay.

And it was, since by the end of those two hours, Garrison was on the phone to a friend of a friend (or was that a Friend of a Friend?) to obtain what he now knew had been omitted from that briefing, as well as to obtain clarification on a couple of other points that now stood out as being decidedly off. His jaw was set in rigid annoyance as he hung up the phone. 

As he described to Actor when he got back to the Mansion, in more than a little disgust, "another one of the bright boys and their ideas! Seems they've noticed our success rate is a little higher than most, even on the really bad jobs, so they wanted to 'just run a little experiment'! Idiots! They could have gotten us all killed because they wanted to see how much of that success was upfront anticipation of the difficulties, how much in the planning, and how much implementation, along with the ability to shift directions as the situation shifts."

Actor listened with incredulous dismay. "So they knowingly gave you a bad briefing? Deliberately skewed the facts, tried to mislead you, to see if they could confuse you? And after you caught them out on part of it, STILL did not remedy the matter before allowing you to leave?? Have they lost their senses?"

Garrison snorted. "I'm not sure anymore. There's equal odds of that, or that they have a mole working alongside them trying to do as much damage as possible. My sources didn't know, not yet anyway, whether we're the only team being 'tested', or whether it's more broadspread. In any case, I've got to let the other team leaders know - at least, I'll let Ainsley know and he can reach out to the others. Wouldn't that be a real coup for the krauts?? Send us ALL out to get us captured or get our heads blown off??! That would put the whole value of Special Forces, Special Ops in question, wouldn't it?"

"With HQ, it is increasingly difficult to abide by the philosophy that malice is less likely to be responsible for one's difficulties than stupidity. And since we are finding a goodly mix of both in our dealings, I believe we should be commended in being able to circumvent the pitfalls attached," Actor considered.

"I know. Come on, I need to brief the guys. No, wait. You go on ahead; I think I'd better call Ainsley first. Give him a heads-up."

And it was probably good that he did, since Ainsley had just returned from HIS appointment with Major Ralston, and Ainsley confirmed Micah Davis had the appointment before that. It was a grim telephone tree racing around London and surrounds by the time Garrison made his way upstairs to the Common Room.

He didn't know what it had taken, who all was involved in slamming down the gavel, but suddenly he and the other team leaders were back in London, getting 'updated' briefings on their upcoming missions. 

Major Ralston had been stiffly apologetic, "just following orders, Lieutenant. I'm sure you understand."

Garrison had just looked him in the eye, long, hard, and finally answered. 

"Yes, I suppose I do. Though I'm not sure YOU do."

Ralston was left to stare at that retreating back, and ask querulously, "what do you suppose he meant by that?"

"Oh, it could have any number of meanings, I suppose," Kevin Richards told him dryly. "I can think of several, myself. Including that you are extremely lucky that this was stopped before any lives were lost. Had it been otherwise, it would have been very painful, all around, for you as well as everyone else."

Ralston frowned, "whatever do you mean? Surely you don't think Garrison would . . ." He couldn't even bring himself to say what those words from Major Richards had stirred in his mind, the officer seeking him out for some dire revenge.

Richards gave him a very bland, totally innocent look (one similar to the one he'd seen Garrison's pickpocket give under similar dubious circumstances). 

"Why, surely the realization that you had deliberately given a fellow officer false and misleading information that led to the death of one or more of the men under his command would be HIGHLY distressful for you. Not to mention knowing that your actions jeopardized the vital mission he and his team was being sent to accomplish. After all, there IS a war on, and taking action that would hinder such a mission, and future missions, would actively aid the enemy, surely. There have been men in that position before, you know; some even found the idea so painful they . . . Well, I believe my uncle referred to it as a corollary to the old dueling term, 'pistols for two at dawn' - he said it was more 'pistol for one in the library'." 

Then HE turned and walked away, leaving a gape-jawed Ralston to stare after him.

{"Well, even if HE didn't feel quite up to managing that honorable engagement, I have the feeling there are others who would have been more than pleased to give him a helping hand. I can think of several, in fact,"} Richards thought as he made his way back to his office.

***  
Garrison knew starting a mission with as much solid intel as possible was certainly better than the alternatives; it allowed for some detailed planning, some practicing of the more touching manouevres.

Still, even after having FINALLY obtaining the accurate briefing he needed, it didn't go quite as expected. Well, in truth, it rarely did, but this time there were just more opportunities for getting himself killed than usual, even though it had started out seeming to be one of those often-promised 'walk in the park' kind of jobs, the kind that rarely materialized in the flesh.

Everything had gone well, all the way to where Garrison had watched the exchange with the first contact. Goniff had barely brushed against the man in passing, but it was enough - one small envelope exchanged for another, and they were ready to leave. 

They'd actually been in the kitchen, Goniff headed out the back door, Garrison following, when a uniformed man had stepped out of the shadows.

Garrison had been caught flatfooted. That hardly ever happened, not as carefully as he planned things out, but there had been no way to have known that German major they'd run up against six months ago had been reassigned to this new command. An officer who would remember Garrison quite well, considering the humiliating defeat the German had suffered at Garrison's hands. For that officer to have entered the party just as Garrison and Goniff were exiting, that was just pure bad luck.

Still, having that revolver shoved into his stomach, watching those cold smiling eyes as Grueling prepared to pull the trigger, that was his first close call, at least this trip out. 

Goniff had moved faster than it seemed possible, turning, diving forward and slamming Grueling's hand down, knocking the gun away so that the bullet passed by with only a tug at Garrison's uniform jacket. Luckly the pickpocket had already handled the quick-fingers bit required of him, since there was no way he'd manage it with those stiff and rapidly swelling fingers now. 

One quick blow from Garrison and Grueling was done for, but it had left an impression, had been a reminder of just how much or how little expert planning sometimes had to do with the success of a mission. The gap the bullet had left in Goniff's uniform jacket was a chill reminder to everyone, since that was the same bullet that had grazed Garrison's uniform. A second later, a slightly different angle, it was possible one of the two wouldn't have emerged intact, maybe both.

They'd managed to get out unseen, the noise from the party having muffled the noise that altercation had caused. They rejoined the others, ready to head for the next piece of the job. They were still miles away when rifle shots caused them to duck for cover.

Now they were huddled behind whatever cover they could find while they tried to figure out what the hell was happening and who was doing all the shooting. Chief slithered through the damp grass, back from recon.

"A German patrol, Warden, but don't look like they're looking for us. From what I could make out, they decided to add some meat to their dinner rations. Idiots are half-drunk too, popping away whenever they see any movement. Going end up shooting each other, most likely. Or one of us," as he quickly ducked his head in reaction to a ricochet from one of those stray bullets.

Just then, it happened. A wild cry of shock and pain, and the shooting stopped as the men below ran to gather around one of their fellow soldiers, sprawled on the ground, cursing in German. After that, it was a quick matter for the abashed patrol to grab their wounded companion and hightail it back to wherever they were supposed to be. Silence filled the air that only minutes before had been filled with the sound of gunfire.

Casino was still cursing under his breath at that last wild shot that had come way too close for comfort, while Garrison was suffering Actor to take a closer look at the stream of blood running down the side of the officer's neck from where that bullet had clipped him. 

"Another fraction of an inch, Craig . . ." Actor had told him, shaking his head in relief. "If you had had your head turned, even the slightest amount . . ."

"I was lucky," Garrison agreed, looking around at the faces surrounding him. "We were all lucky."

That luck didn't hold, though, because their supposed contact for that next piece was a fraud, someone in the pay of the enemy. 

Garrison had made the approach, something telling him to keep the guys back til he knew whether that odd feeling in the pit of his stomach was just reaction or something more. He would have avoided this entirely, just headed for the exit, but this contact had one final piece of information Garrison was supposed to bring back with the rest. 

Chief had been doing the shadowing, as usual, and his face was grim as he reported back to the guys.

"He went in when the woman waved that handkerchief at him, just like it was planned. Went out the back way, half a dozen krauts holding their rifles on him. Took him through the alley to a big place on the corner, big fence around it."

Some scouting, some clever recon work by a reimagined Actor, and they had the details. Highly unpleasant details.

"They do not know who he is; clearly, our original contact told them possibly part, but not all. I understand she died under questioning. However, we have not much time. He is to be executed at first light, and that is less than six hours from now."

Goniff swallowed, shut his eyes tightly for a moment, then asked, voiced harsh and raspy, "firing squad?" Well, he'd come close to facing the same, at least once, and would never forget the chill, the trickle of sweat down his spine while he watched the soldiers preparing for their task.

"No, it would appear the man in charge is a traditionalist. They have had a town hangman for as long as the town has been in existence, and a scaffold kept in good repair."

The men exchanged a determined look. 

"So, how are we gonna get him out?" Casino asked. "You know we can't just walk away, leave him there to get his neck stretched."

Goniff turned, face hard and angry, started to sputter something, but a restraining hand from Chief had him holding back, the younger man replying for both of them.

"No, we don't walk away. He wouldn't walk away from any of us. Question is, how do we manage it?"

And they huddled together, going over the information Actor had been able to put together. And they came up with a plan. Maybe not the same plan Garrison would have come up with, but still, one with at least some chance of working. Odds were the team would end up getting bloodied, but they were going to get their lieutenant back or die trying.

***  
He was going to die. He accepted that, had accepted that possible fate the moment he'd stepped onto the course of a military career. He hadn't expected it at the end of a noose, no, but it didn't rock him as much as you might have thought. 

But what about his team? His men? What would happen to them now? Actor had the exit plan, could hopefully get them back to London, but what then? He despaired at the thought of Major Kingston or some of the others determining their fate, wanted to cry out at the injustice of it all. And even more, he railed at his own negligence, in not having made some arrangements for them, to help them when he no longer could. 

Now, it was too late. Of all his regrets, and he had a more than a few, that was the one that burned the deepest.

He'd refused the hood that had been offered to him, and now he watched the hangman reach out for that lever that would release the trap door beneath his feet. Then, the trap door sprang open, the noose tightened, a searing burn around his neck, and he fell. 

Fell and hit hard, legs crumpling under him.

His dazed mind told him that that wasn't how the whole thing was supposed to work, him falling all the way to the ground, rope laying limp beside him. 

Then, the cries from the small crowd, the blare of machine guns, the yells, and he knew his men had NOT headed for the exit like they should have. Well, even in the darkness of the pit below the scaffold he could tell that rope had been severed by a knife. {"Chief!"}

Groaning, he tried to get to his knees, although with his hands bound behind his back and his ankles lashed together, that was heavy going. Then he wasn't alone in that dark space, and instinctively he started to struggle against the hands that latched onto him.

"Ei, lay still, now. Will 'ave you loose if you stop wriggling around!" Goniff complained in a breathless voice. Some fast knife work, and he was freed, being urged to the small opening they'd managed in the base during their night hours of preparation.

"Casino's right outside. You stick with 'im, I'll cover you both. Chief and Actor's keeping the rest back. Come ON, Craig!" Goniff pushed at him, and Garrison shook the cobwebs out of his mind, and wiggled out through the small space.

A last spray of machine gun fire and they were off, running like hell for an alternate exit. Well, Garrison always DID try to have one or two of those in his hip pocket.

Back to London, a tense debriefing cut short by some sort of internal squabble, and he and his men were released to head back to Brandonshire. They'd decided against medical care in London, too worried HQ would send someone after them. No, the further they were away from there for now, the better.

***  
He should have been miserable - flat on his back, (so to speak, though he was actually propped up against firm but comfortable pillows), with several cracked ribs, a wrenched elbow, a nasty rope burn that hit right where his collar would have rubbed if he'd still been wearing his uniform instead of a t-shirt, and a few other less-noteworthy injuries. 

But miserable he wasn't. Uncomfortable, to some degree, but that discomfort was far outweighed by the other, less physical things he also was feeling: grateful, worried, hopeful, apprehensive, and much much more, many of those things just as much in conflict with each other as those first four were.

Oh, there was a fair amount of guilt mixed in, as well, considering his men were in their narrow cots up at the Mansion while he was in much more comfortable surroundings, but it wasn't like he'd been given any choice. The matter had been taken out of his hands as soon as he'd returned to Brandonshire.

The firm decision by Dr. A J Riley, that the Lieutenant had no business trying to go up and down stairs or just being allowed to go about his usual routine.

"And unless someone's willing to stand firm, I know you'll do exactly that. The Sergeant Major is sensible, of course, and quite capable in most regards, but also likely to obey your orders, no matter how foolish. No, Lieutenant Garrison, it's the Cottage for you, until I say otherwise! I have a feeling Meghada can keep you in line better than anyone else! She has a considerable amount of experience with dealing with foolishly determined men, after all! You might keep that in mind."

Garrison had protested as much as he had energy for, knowing HQ wouldn't be all that thrilled if they knew, and would surely find out. Still, he found himself being bundled up and deposited firmly in the bedroom of the Cottage, being handed two pain pills and a glass of water, and given his marching orders (so to speak): take the pills, drink the water, and rest! 

It would seem the only thing he was in charge of right now was in deciding when he needed to use the john, and even there he was under strict orders not to try that on his own, but to call for help. 

Honestly, he didn't intend to do any such thing, was pretty sure he could manage at least THAT much on his own. Pretty sure, until he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand up; then he found himself sitting back down much faster than he'd done the standing up part. In the end, he'd swallowed his pride and rung the small bell Meghada had placed on the nightstand; as embarrassing as it might be to ask for help getting to the john, it was still less embarrassing than having to have her try to get him up off the floor if he toppled over.

Now, he looked around the cozy room illuminated by the light from the oil lamp on the dressing table, another on the bedside table to his far side, ran his hand over the piecework quilt pulled up over his legs, and smiled, contentment fully evident on his face. (Yes, the pain pills helped with that, most likely, but truly were not the underlying cause, perhaps only a ready excuse.)

A small place, certainly. Really, mapping it out in his mind, as well as his mind could manage at the moment, only four rooms, if you discounted the other cottages lined up adjacent to this one. Still, he couldn't imagine anywhere else he'd rather be. Those four rooms encompassed so very, very much!

{"They were right. There really IS no place like home!"}

Well, maybe it wasn't really 'home', not yet. It COULDN'T be, not til that blasted 'duration plus six months' were up. And they'd not really TALKED about that, not in concrete terms, so maybe he was taking a heck of a lot for granted in the first place. Still, in terms of warmth, and sharing, and not having to watch every word, every opinion, hell, every look, it was all that and maybe more. At least, it was his vision of what a home should be, not like the one he'd grown up in, certainly. 

He quickly brought his mind to order; he had no intention of thinking about the Garrison 'home', such as it was. Remembering standing on that scaffold gave him enough cold chills - no need to try and add more to the mix.

Here, it was different. Mutual respect was offered within these walls, and given in return, another novelty to him in connection to the word 'home'. Here, you weren't expected to just echo what the others were saying or thinking or feeling. You weren't given the idea that there was some pre-formed 'script' or choreographed routine you were expected to deliver, if you wanted to be allowed to stay. 

The other two who made their home here, (at least as much as time and circumstances allowed) didn't expect, hell, didn't WANT that! They wanted to know what you truly WERE thinking or feeling, or just felt like saying. What did that book SAY to you, and what impacted you most, the characters, the plot, what? What did that music make you FEEL, and why? 

And if, for whatever reason, you weren't in the mood for sharing any of that, that was alright too, no pressure, no guilt. All you had to do was shrug and say, "I need to think on that awhile," knowing they wouldn't press, that it would be up to you to bring up the subject again, if and when you decided to. 

And perhaps best of all? He wasn't expected to make all the decisions here, be in charge, would have met with rather amused looks from Meghada and Goniff if he'd even tried. Especially now. That took a huge weight off his mind, enough he was contemplating whether he should make an effort to feel guilty about THAT too. 

{"Should I be feeling guilty for NOT feeling guilty? Feeling guilty for feeling relieved that I'm not in charge? Circles within circles within circles."} knowing his mind wasn't really responsible for itself right now, and somehow failing to find that overly-worrisome. 

He caught himself, finding himself slightly if not more than a little amused, wondering if that was going too much in circles even for HIM! 

{"No, it's probably best I'm NOT trying to do paperwork, work on the maps right now!"}, remembering that debacle with his reports during his malaria attack! He was pretty sure Gil Rawlins wasn't up to dealing with all that again.

A warm chuckle from the doorway brought him back from his contemplation.

"You look like you've 'ad about four shots of Gaida's special bourbon, Craig, if not more; don't look like you've a solid bone left in your body. And your eyes are shining like emeralds in the lamplight - look like they belong in a gold crown chock-full of sparklie jewels, you know? Put all the diamonds and all the rest to shame, they would, too. Likely they'd all just pull away and go 'ide their faces for being unable to measure up to that green sparkle you got going there."

Goniff paused to take a sip of his own bourbon while he leaned on the doorframe and feasted on the sight of Craig - here, safe if not particularly sound, when it had been such a close call. {"SUCH a close call, any number of times, really, but that last one, coo!"}

{"Bless Doc Riley! Don't think I could 'ave 'andled it, being tucked away in the Dorm, 'im down the 'all alone, not just yet. And 'e woulda insisted no one stay in there with 'im; probably just keep telling us "I'm fine, stop fussing!" I'm never gonna be able to repay Chiefy for making that throw, cutting that rope just in time! And the Doc was right; we'd 'ave 'ad 'im tumbling down the stairs trying to get to the office, get back to work long before 'e should. 'E's best off 'ere at 'ome, right where 'e belongs!"}. 

Whatever doubts Craig may have had, Goniff didn't; he knew what the truth of the matter was. Home was where Craig needed to be, and thankfully, home was where he was.

A slow lazy smile of appreciation came across Craig Garrison's face, "and I thought Actor had some good lines! Did you know you look like you're glowing, Goniff?" squinting at his pickpocket, denim-clad, leaning against the doorframe. Yes, there was no doubt about that.

Again, partly that was due to the pain pills, but also, Meghada had the woodstove going in the kitchen and had that cast iron door open in the process of adding fuel, so the light from the fire backlit the Englishman. Combine that with the oil lamps being used (since the electric was off in the whole area), and yes, the pickpocket DID rather shimmer around the edges. 

{"I know damned well that halo seeming to hover around his head isn't the real thing, wouldn't be with ANY of my guys! And what's Goniff doing HERE, instead of up at the Mansion with the others? Those were the orders I gave, just in case HQ comes looking."}

He was unaware he'd said either of those things out loud, not til that grin of utter delight and burst of laughter lit up the night. Those both affected him now like they had from so early on, warmed him inside, tugged at him, invited him to come closer. It had taken more than a little while to admit it, but now he didn't even bother denying it, not to himself anyway. Goniff held his heart, always would, for better or worse.

"No, doubt I'd be wearing any 'alo, Craig. Even if I got 'anded one, by accident no doubt, probably end up tripping over my own feet and getting it bent out of shape before sundown! And I'm 'ere because we're taking turns, in shifts, just to give 'Gaida a 'elping 'and, so to speak. I took first shift," with a disarming smile. Had INSISTED on taking the first shift, and no one had called him on it. While the team might not understand everything, they understood enough, though perhaps each at a different level. 

Casino, for example, was still stuck on what he'd told Chief after Goniff had left. 

"That Goniff! Never saw such a mother hen! He needs the sleep as much as we do! As if Meghada couldn't handle things on her own for a few hours!"

Chief nodded, but reminded Casino, "he'd just worry himself to death if he'd stuck around here. Let him alone, Pappy. Don't figure he can help it. He wants the first shift, that's fine with me. He can curl up in a chair down there, or on the daybed in the library, sleep til she or the Warden needs him; it'll make him feel better, you know that."

That he was pretty sure the pickpocket would be doing no such thing, tucking himself away in the library or the sitting room, that wasn't something he was going to say out loud. He figured Goniff just wasn't ready to let Garrison out of his sight, not quite yet; the man hadn't gotten more than a foot away the whole trip back, not unless he really HAD to.

Now the wiry Englishman settled into the rocking chair next to the bed, distracting Garrison with some aimless chatter, looking over again and again, just to remind himself that the man really was there.

{"Blimey! I need to get past seeing 'im on that scaffold, them about ready to pull that lever!"}

Soon, Goniff picked up a copy of their latest book ventured, 'The Man Who Came To Dinner', to read quietly aloud. 

Garrison had joked after a particular passage outlining the newest outrageous demand being made by the injured main character on his unexpected and victimized hosts.

"Are you trying to send me a message there?" garnering a laugh, since Goniff hadn't really considered that aspect. 

"No, not with you, Craig. Now if it were Actor laid up in that bed, that would be a different story. Course, can't see 'Gaida putting 'im there, anyway. Wouldn't seem right, you know, otherwise; that's OUR bed, this is OUR room - yours, mine, 'Gaida's. It'd be the daybed in the library for 'im and the others too, if they need to stay 'ere."

That exposed some of the layers of complexity surrounding the dynamics of the Cottage, not that Garrison was up to deciphering any of that, not in his current condition. He just found it all comforting.

A nap, a trip to the john, a simple meal shared, all three on trays so both Goniff and Meghada could keep Craig company, and the hours passed easily, in contented satisfaction. It was almost a hint of the future, of what could (maybe) come to be, but something so exquisitely-fragile that no one could bear to speak of it.

Meghada had the next shift by herself.

Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins had called. Seemed HQ might be willing to accept the doctor's insistence on Garrison recuperating elsewhere, but they had someone from the Base due to arrive within the hour to 'set the marching orders' with Rawlins til Garrison's return, and to be sure the rest of the team was in place. 

"Don't think it's needful, myself. We're all too worn out to be getting up to much mischief, and whoever 'e is, 'is list can't be any longer than the ones from you that we already 'ave memorized," Goniff grumbled as he switched back to his fatigues.

Garrison scoffed, "if you have them memorized, then why do I have to keep repeating them? Or have you forgotten about last month??" getting a rueful grin in return. 

Yes, well, they HAD kinda bent that particular list in a few places, Goniff knew, even more than Garrison was aware of. Not that he intended enlightening the man, but HE knew.

But he didn't really have any choice, and so he had reluctantly headed back to the Mansion so they would present a full contingent; Chief would come to help later, once the coast was clear, but that probably would not be for another several hours, depending on the visitor's need to make a point. 

Craig watched as Meghada tidied the room and folded the laundry she'd taken in from the line. He'd eaten the soup and fresh bread she'd brought him, along with the sweet biscuits for dessert, and taken another pair of those damned pain pills. 

Whether it was the pills, or the almost hypnotic grace with which she moved around the room, he heard himself asking something he'd been thinking about for a long time now, something forced to the front of his mind by the remembering of the feel of that rope tightening around his neck.

It WAS probably the pain pills that caused him to tackle the subject in perhaps not the best manner. Actually, ham-fisted would have been a good way to describe his approach, not his usual smooth style at all.

"Have you ever wondered, Meghada? Whether it's all a big con?"

She'd given him a curious look, seeing those unfocused yet serious green eyes, feeling the intensity laying beneath those words. She put aside the linens she was folding, then settled herself into the rocking chair close to the bed to give him her full attention. This was obviously important to him; that made it important to her as well.

"Is WHAT a big con, Craig? You have to be more specific; I like to be sure of the question before I start sharing my thoughts. Hate to go giving the right answer to the wrong question, you know - as bad as giving the wrong answer to the right question, if not more so. My sister always preached to that, most heartily. Often more than a little dangerous, especially to one of my temperament," she'd smiled.

He snorted with mild amusement. Yes, that was the Dragon, alright. There had been a time when he'd been more than a little askance at her outlook on things. Now? It was as if his future, the guys' future, and his sanity depended on her insight and where she was drawing her own lines. He could only pray he was reading things right.

"Have you ever wondered if I'm just conning the guys, pretending to take their side, keep HQ off their backs because they're useful? Using them to get the job done as long as it's advantageous for me? Intending to maybe just walk away, abandon them when it's over, or when they're not useful to me anymore?"

His face had a frown that pointed to some very serious thoughts indeed, and his fingers traced the rope mark around his neck.

"Have you ever wondered if I'm conning Goniff, pretending to feel things I don't feel, for some twisted motive of my own? Maybe using him, as a convenience? Perhaps, too, knowing how you feel about him, to gain YOUR assistance, your cooperation, your family and your resources at times?"

Meghada studied him, then rose and went to sit on the side of the bed, absently touching one finger to his hair, stroking it very lightly, just once, not so much a caress as an acknowledgement that she was paying attention, considering his words carefully before answering.

"The thought has occurred to me. Dragons are not overly trusting, I will admit. It would cause each of them very great pain should that turn out to be true, of course, a betrayal enough to strike deep within their souls. I would be most disappointed, most upset were that to happen. I will tell you that I have watched very carefully for any evidence that that might be the case. And I will say that I have seen little that would cause me to think that were so."

{"I've seen her 'most disappointed, most upset' a few times. It's not a pretty picture."}. Still, that wasn't enough, not to ease his mind entirely.

He didn't know why he was pushing, though he knew he was, and pushing very hard. He was pretty sure that wasn't smart, but couldn't seem to stop himself.

"But if it DID? Turn out to be true, I mean?" he insisted.

His lucid mind was struggling frantically to get his mouth to shut the hell up! This was NOT a smart thing to be doing, not at all! At least, not the way he was going about it. Yes, he had something he needed to know, to reassure himself about, but she was likely to get the wrong idea with the odd way he was approaching her, and that might not be healthy.

NO, he wasn't conning the guys, sure as hell wasn't conning Goniff, and why he was poking the Dragon with that particular stick, he had NO idea! There just HAD to be a better way!! {"DAMN those pills!"}

Her gold-brown eyes were glittering now, whirling in the light of the lamps, focusing on his without blinking, like pinwheels in a brisk wind.

{"A man could get dizzy if he watched that show for very long!"}feeling like those eyes were seeing all the way into, even through him, reading him all the way to his core.

Then, a slow, quiet, understanding smile came to her face, a smile of great kindness that varied considerably from the careful words that accompanied it. 

"Should I see that about to happen, then I would do whatever was needed to protect them from the damage, shelter them against the impact. No matter what the source. And, Craig, if that source was you? Were that to happen, knowing the hurt that would cause, I would destroy you, utterly, hopefully without them ever having any idea of what had happened, hopefully without them ever knowing you had betrayed their trust. Without Goniff ever knowing you had used and then betrayed his love. And, Craig? I would do it without the slightest qualm. And I would offer them sincere warm comfort and support for their loss, and help them in any way possible to let them live the lives they deserve to have, no matter what that took."

Serene gold-brown eyes looked peacefully into searching green ones, and then Craig Garrison nodded, satisfied, now understanding why he'd taken this odd approach. This way, by pushing her this far, he could be sure what he was hearing was truth, and he desperately needed that truth. 

He figured he was probably losing his mind for a threat from the Dragon, especially one of 'utter destruction' to be a comfort, but that was simply the way things were.

"Good. Then, if anything should happen to me, I can trust you to take care of them the best you can. Keep HQ from shipping them back, or any other damned nonsense they might come up with. Keep them from being tossed away, or given to some idiot like Kingston. Help them however they might need you to. I needed to know that, that I could trust you to protect them if I can't."

She chuckled, shook her head at his roundaboutation, leaned forward to gently kiss his gold-blond hair. 

"Aye, Craig. That you can, me AND the Clan, for I've put that into place just in case something happens to me. 

"Now that you have assured yourself of my ruthlessness, along with my homicidal capabilities, AND, of course, my level of protectiveness - if you have perhaps had enough of poking a stick into a hornet's nest, or a Dragon's eye, maybe you might consider taking a bit of a nap? It might turn your mind to less dangerous activities. I believe I have a crossword or two I could find for you when you awake. And Chief might be willing to sit across the chessboard from you, as well, once he arrives. And, I think perhaps some time in meditation might be advisable, perhaps for both of us."

He'd chuckled, nodded in agreement, and leaned back to take that nap, his mind truly at peace as it had not been since standing on that scaffold.

Chief headed down to lend a hand after the busybody from London was safely gone, taking along a few things the Warden would probably need. That did NOT include the briefcase of work the busybody had left for Garrison to do while he was laid up.

Actor threw himself into the translation work inside that briefcase.

"Obviously it is too much to ask to let him simply recuperate," he'd said with some exasperation. Well, he'd helped Garrison often enough he knew he could handle a goodly portion of the stack, anyway.

Goniff was directed to 'catch up on your sleep before you walk into a wall, Goniff!' and the slender Englishman headed off to the Dorm, muttering under his breath about snooty conmen who thought they were the boss of everybody.

Casino looked around after a few hours, and finding himself at loose ends, decided to go see how things were going at the Cottage. He glanced in at Goniff, saw just a heap of covers covering a burrowed mass; saw that Actor was deeply entrenched, frown on his face as he worked over those papers. {"No reason to bother either of them right now; they won't even know I'm gone."}

He was back within a very short period of time, shaking his head, pulling out their hidden bottle of whiskey and headed in to complain to Actor, who was now filling out reports.

"Shit, Beautiful! Some days . . .!"

"And just what is the problem, Casino?" the tall Italian asked, rubbing his eyes. He really didn't know how Garrison managed to avoid needing glasses with all that small print!

Casino looked totally disgusted, poured them both a shot of whiskey and proceeded to pour out his lament as well.

"So, I get down there, there they all are - all FOUR of them, mind you! That damn fool little Limey must have snuck out, left it looking like he was in his cot, cause there he was too. All four of them, sitting crosslegged on a big quilt laid out over the grass in the garden, doing that THING! That 'meditation' shit. 

"Didn't even know I was there. Well, except for Goniff; he was the only one with his eyes open. He looked over the minute I showed my shadow at the gate, grinned at me, winked, then went back to whatever the HELL he was doing before! It sure wasn't that meditation shit, cause I was right, Beautiful. He couldn't a sat still long enough. He might not a been chattering, but his head was bebopping side to side, just a little, and his fingers bouncing on his knees, keeping time right along, that gun swaying back and forth. And since when do you 'meditate' with a gun in your lap anyhow??! Thought it was all peaceful thoughts and shit like that!"

Actor smiled in amusement at the picture all of that presented, as well as the sheer frustration and bewilderment in Casino's face and voice. 

No, Actor couldn't see their little pickpocket settling down enough to meditate either, but if the others WERE thus absorbed, then he was sure Goniff was doing his own version of both fitting in and standing guard. {"Mother hen, indeed!"}

"Do not worry about it, Casino. Come, tell me what you remember about that villa in San Rafael; I have a feeling I am leaving out something important."

{"We will each help in our own way, and soon Craig will be back and things will be back to normal. Well, as normal as things get, anyway. I wonder if Chief will continue with the meditation? I know Craig finds it beneficial. And I wonder just what WAS going through Goniff's head, what he was 'keeping time' to?"}

And back in the garden, Goniff continued to tap his fingers, keeping time with his head, as the music played through his mind, chuckling to himself at the expression on Casino's face. 

{"'Everybody's doing it, doing it, doing it, everybody's doing it, doing it now . . .' Well, not everybody. Casino's right about one thing; can't think I'd ever get my mind to slow down enough. Still, if Craig and 'Gaida and Chiefy want to keep this up, well, SOMEONE'S got to keep watch and make sure no one sneaks up on them! Yeah, so it's only Brandonshire, but no one knows better 'ow trouble can show up at the oddest times!"}

*'Everybody's Doing It' by Irving Berlin.


End file.
